


Delphi

by Dryad



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, NC17, unity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 07:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3373607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You've been reassigned."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delphi

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Come At Once February 2015 Challenge!
> 
> Prompt: In my defense, it made sense at the time
> 
> All mistakes, etc, etc.
> 
> Thanks to [Ariane Devere](http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/43794.html) for making my memory more reliable.

Even though the room was dim, with only a few tiny lights shining down from the ceiling, the Oracle was easy to see. He lounged sideways on an overlarge black stuffed chair, dressed in black boots, black leather trousers that left little to the imagination, and a black leather jacket with a few shiny black embellishments along the center closure. The jacket gaped at the top, where a black shirt peeped, the drawstrings undone and tipped with tarnished silver points. All that black only highlighted the length of the exposed neck, pale as cows milk, leading to a long face and mirror pale eyes, topped with a shock of sooty curls. Behind him, in the floor to ceiling window, bright stars salted the Deep, only emphasizing the starkness of the Oracle's skin.

It didn't matter that John Watson had seen the Oracle many times before, that he always felt a flush of forbidden attraction, as well as wariness, for the Oracle had never asked for him, and him alone. No, John was merely a troop in the Oracle's guard, randomly assigned to the position after being invalided during the war. So the Oracle, and what he did, was not unfamiliar to him. Nonetheless, after the door slid shut and he was in the Oracle's day room proper, he could not force himself to go further. 

The Oracle stared at him, then sat up. Cocking his head to one side, he said, "Did the Captain tell you for what you are wanted?"

John blinked, parsing the awkward phrase to what he thought the Oracle meant. "If you're asking me if he told me why you wanted to see me, the answer is no."

"No?"

"Well, nothing beyond that I was to do as I was told."

Although the Captain had also had quite a shuttered expression on his face, his lips pinched with distaste as he had given John his new orders. "You've been reassigned. You're to leave the Guard and become the personal protector to the Oracle."

Years in the Army and now this secondment to the Navy, allowed John to keep the surprise from his face and his voice. "Yes, sir."

Captain Smythe had looked up at him then, his blue eyes burning with a fervor that John found disturbing. "The Oracle comes from a powerful family, Watson. If I could keep a good soldier like you out of their clutches, I would. Unfortunately that is impossible in this instance. Word has come from on high that this interference will be the last for the immediate future."

"Of course, sir."

"See to it that he gets what he wants, Watson. We need him fresh and ready if we're going to win this war."

"Aye aye, Captain."

In retrospect, John wondered if he should have been even more nervous that he already was. After all, he had never even heard of the Unity's so-called 'secret weapon' before coming aboard _Venom_. His detail with the Guard had been symbolic, as far as he was concerned. His job was honorary, filled with days and nights of escorting the high mucky mucks deck to deck, ship to ship. There was no real action to be had apart from gambling and illegal fighting, which was also the only he could put his medical skills to use. Taking the invited to the Oracle's day room, usually standing outside while business of some nature or another was attended to inside. Occasionally he overheard muffled shouting, and once or twice, the tail ends of prophecies that he knew came true, for though the wardroom gossip ran strong and free, the inner guards almost never spoke of what happened with the Oracle. Almost. If a person were very quiet, they could overhear things they weren't meant to know about.

John knew that the Oracle could tell where a person was from just by the way they walked, or what lineage they came from, what instruments they played and how they took their tea and who was sleeping with whom. He knew the Oracle could tell what a person was going to do a year in advance, how many children they would have, when they would die. The Oracle could even tell if a person was an honest Citizen or merely a criminal. Certainly, more than once John had had to bring one of the invited to the brig in chains. Some of them had railed against the Oracle, or cried. Some attempted to escape, and John had been forced to kill one who had somehow gotten away from Crane and Housden. Bloke had grabbed Dr. Sawyer as a hostage, which was a mistake on his part. No one took one of John's people, not in the past, not now. Especially not one who was outstanding in her job.

"Can you make tea?"

John came back to the present abruptly. "Yes…"

The Oracle came to his feet with a smoothness John immediately envied. He stalked to John's left, where he slid open part of the wall to expose an old-fashioned beverage unit. Soft lighting came on, showing a shelf above the tiny counter holding a porcelain tea set for four in celadon. The cups looked far too fragile to use, and John was glad to see the Oracle take two other mugs from a low cupboard instead.

"You do not have any questions?"

"I follow the orders I'm given," answered John, coming to parade rest. The blissful odor of loose leaf tea permeated the room. He spoke before he even realized he had anything to say. "My duties, sir?"

The Oracle continued on with his tea making, but instead of pouring hot water into the pot, he took three long steps to face John, where he loomed. He was perfumed, a scent that made John breathe deep. Lemon? Something green? A hint of something…animalistic? Up close, the Oracle was rather more human, if ethereally so. Broader than John would have suspected. Less thin than he looked from afar.

"To follow my instruction. I require unusual services."

John nodded once. "Sir."

"Stop calling me that, for one thing. The name is Sherlock Holmes and I'm a Consulting Detective, the only one in the Unity."

All right, whatever that meant. John realized the Oracle was waiting for a response, and said, "You work for the police, then?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. I help them with their investigations."

"And you're aboard a Naval vessel because…" Oh, he was going to have to watch himself. Already he was forgetting to be neutral, a non-entity.

Sherlock grinned, a flash of white teeth there and then gone. "My brother needs me here."

John smiled politely. He still had no idea of why he was here. 

"Sex, John. How do you feel about it."

Well. "I like it. Sir."

"Yet it has been some time since you last had it."

John reined in his anger. What kind of shite question was that, to ask a person you had just met? 

"You're wondering why I asked, and thinking it was very rude of me to do so. Stop thinking," Sherlock stepped even closer, close enough that their chests would otherwise be touching if John wasn't leaning the slightest bit away. "You wounds prevent you from active service, and keep you from practicing medicine. You're bored, John."

"And what's that got to do with my private life?" John blurted, ashamed at being read so easily, yet excited, too.'

Sherlock put his hand on John's shoulder, whispered into his ear. "I have needs, John, that can only satisfied by someone accustomed to danger."

That…was ridiculous. The worst line he had ever heard, and he had been in the Army, for god's sake. "You want me to be your..."

"Yes."

John didn't know what to say, or think, or do. Part of him was aghast at the prospect. What would his friends say to him, once they found out? Then again, who was going to tell them? And could he do this with a man? Even one as powerful as the Oracle? If he didn't, would his family be in danger? 

"I picked you, John, out of everyone."

He had to ask. "Is that because you saw my future?"

"What?" Sherlock jerked back, a confused frown drawing his eyebrows down. "I don't see the future, I'm not a seer, they don't even exist outside of classified ads for gullible people. Next you'll be asking if I can speak to the dead. The answer is no, obviously. I speak _for_ the dead."

"And my family?"

"What about them? I'm sure they're happy wherever they live. Do you need reports? I can contact my network in London - "

"No, no, it's fine," said John, oddly reassured by Sherlock's lack of interest. So…if this was just about sex, he could do that. He was a doctor, and a man, he would have insight on what to do, for once. Besides, Sherlock looked like danger itself. It would be an interesting experience, if nothing else. "All right then, yes."

One corner of Sherlock's mouth turned up, then he turned and headed for the chair, which was, John realized, the only furniture he could see in the room. John turned, reached, palmed on the door lock. Whatever was about to happen, he didn't want to be interrupted.

Seated once again on the chair, Sherlock motioned John forward. Closer, closer, closer until Sherlock put his hands on John's hips and walked him between Sherlock's legs. He murmured, "There we are."

Deft fingers began to unclasp the hooks on John's jacket. Not all the way up, just enough for the release on his trousers to be exposed. He stood there, unsure of whether helping was allowed. Actually, come to think of it, he wasn't sure what they were doing, not sure at all. Maybe he should reciprocate? With that thought in mind, he raised one hand, only for it to be slapped away.

Sherlock smiled up at him, his hands now busy on John's belt. "No, John. Not at this time. I need to think, and as my brother will not allow me cigarettes, this is the next best thing."

So, with his breath coming a little short, John watched the Oracle as he unfastened his trousers, drew down his pants, and fondle John into full hardness. Funny, he hadn't even realized he was that aroused. Sherlock glanced up from underneath his dark lashes, and that was it, John was a goner, done for, dead.

_Oh shit._

It was good…very good. Sherlock was tonguing John's prick, licking under his foreskin, randomly sucking on the head and making John weak in the knees. He couldn't help thrusting his hips, as gently as he could, but he was also unexpectedly close.

And then Sherlock pulled off. Light glinted off his mouth and chin, wet with saliva, and he grinned again as he settled against the chair back. "Come on," he said, patting the seat on either side of his legs.

Okay. The blow job had been excellent, but hands would do, too. John awkwardly clambered on top of Sherlock's lap, rested on his thighs. Sherlock had something else in mind entirely, though, urging John up with both hands on his arse. John stood tall on his knees and held on to the back of the chair, watched Sherlock slide down and _oooohh_ , he got the picture. He was going to have to be very careful, now. Wouldn't do to stand in front of Captain Smythe and report the death of the Oracle by suffocation, no.

He carefully slid into Sherlock's mouth, made quick, shallow thrusts that sent pleasure shooting into his pelvis and up his spine, oh yes. Firm hands steadied his hips and he slowed while Sherlock readjusted as much as he could. Finally Sherlock took a deep breath, then pulled John in closer, deeper, until the tip of his nose was against John's skin.

Sherlock swallowed.

John groaned and came, shooting down Sherlock's throat in long, swift pulses. When he was done, Sherlock pushed him away, leaving him to stand on wobbly legs. With trembling hands tucked himself back into his pants, refastened his clothing. After, John wiped his forehead free of perspiration, hoped he would get the chance to return to the barracks to change out of his clammy clothing. Not before he took care of Sherlock - unless Sherlock had previously meant he didn't want to be touched at all? 

Looking down at Sherlock's lap, it was clear that the man was still in an unfulfilled state. John motioned towards him. "Should I…?"

"No, not at this time," Sherlock said, resting the tips of his fingers together.

John wasn't convinced. He'd just had the best sex - the _only_ sex - of the past two years. "I was told to give you whatever you wan-"

The entry chime sounded and Sherlock was off the chair like a missile, leaving John to hastily follow. He shoved Sherlock out of the way as the door opened. "Yes?"

The man in front of John looked him up and down. Serviceman, dressed in the forest and brown of the Police. Detective Inspector, if John read the rank right. 

"Is he in?"

"Who are you to ask?" replied John, abruptly aware of the difference in odor between the Oracle's day room and the slightly chemical, recycled air scent of the corridor.

The man snorted. "Right. Sherlock?"

"What have you got for me?" asked Sherlock, jostling John to greet their visitor.

The man looked left and right. "Not in the hallway, yeah?"

John didn't like the sound of that, liked it even less when Sherlock let the man in and locked the door behind him.

"Details, Lestrade, I need details!"

"Here's the data," said Lestrade, holding up a scroll of flimsy. "Don't get it anywhere near Ship's systems, it'll recognize it immediately."

Sherlock took the flimsy and held it up. "I'm aware of how things work aboard this ship."

"You're not the most discrete of men, is what I'm saying."

Sherlock shot Lestrade a withering glance, then headed towards another wall. As before, he touched a panel and the wall slid open to reveal a highly illegal workstation. John knew the type, he had seen them before down on Konnikova.

"So who are you?" asked Lestrade, eyeing John once more.

"Captain John Watson," Sherlock answered, even though he was peering down a scope at the flimsy. "Now my personal bodyguard and assistant."

"Really?"

"In my defense, it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"I'll say," Lestrade faced John fully, held out one hand. "Keep him in good nick. He needs all the help he can get, especially after that Kitty Winter debacle."

"Kitty Winter?" asked John, feeling completely out of the loop.

Lestrade shook his head. "Long story. I'll tell you after a pint or two."

"Sounds good."

"I'd best be off before Donovan finds me. She'll have my hide if I don't show up at that review in time. Sherlock, Captain Watson."

John let Lestrade out, relocked the door for the third time. "What now?"

"Now, you'll move to my personal quarters. There's a spare room through that door there, get your things. Make sure you bring your night gear, I'll want to move about the ship during 4th shift."

"You're not serious!"

Sherlock looked up at him. "Absolutely, John. You're an Army doctor, are you any good?"

"Yes. Yes, very good."

"Seen a lot of injuries, violent deaths."

"Yes. More than enough for a lifetime."

"Would you like to see more?"

"Oh god, yes."

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this turned out a lot less porny than I was expecting. It's been that kind of week with everything I've written!
> 
> Also, I feel that I didn't do this prompt justice. Sometimes the ideas run away with you, right?


End file.
